


you feel like home to me.

by delusionalwithlove



Category: K-pop, Super Junior
Genre: Drabble, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-01-14
Updated: 2012-01-14
Packaged: 2017-10-29 12:04:58
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 318
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/319708
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/delusionalwithlove/pseuds/delusionalwithlove
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>All these little touches accumulate every day.</p><p>[Originally posted on lj on 08/15/2010.]</p>
            </blockquote>





	you feel like home to me.

**Author's Note:**

> Written for prompt #40, "Skin," from the 100 Super Junior Fics challenge on miracle______ @ lj. Inspired by [this](http://i43.tinypic.com/24lsm0j.jpg) photo.

 

They brush arms in crowded rooms. Shindong's hand ghosts across his temple, reaching over him for something. Kyuhyun helps him with his jacket and lets his fingers slide up Shindong's shoulders in the most brief manner. All these little touches accumulate every day, these innocuous moments gathering on Kyuhyun like condensation on a glass, dotting across his body and pooling, shimmering. His scars disappear; his acne clears and everywhere Shindong touches, he feels new. He intertwines their fingers at a press conference and doesn't let go even as the cameras capture an inaccurate portrait of them, light bouncing off of the foundation that hides them so well; Kyuhyun thinks as he looks through the pictures idly afterwards that the best shots are the ones that capture the imperfections- the places where the makeup has faded or been wiped away by accident, the shiny redness of his inner eyes that couldn't be concealed, the noticeable foundation lines, the beauty of their messy smiles. During the day, his skin is a necessary nuisance. It hurts him, it tears too easily, its pores stubbornly refuse to shrink, it flares in irritation at the slightest infraction. It restricts him, it binds him. At night, when Shindong's soft hand is on his stomach, it becomes freedom; the stretch of it over his arching ribcage, the way his entire body seems to breathe and come alive, the way it takes in moonlight and caresses it when Shindong's eyes are on him. He loves that Shindong is so soft, so yielding, wide expanses of surprisingly delicate and milky skin that takes him in and protects his birdlike bones, his shrouded heart. He loves to press himself into the space between the other's shoulder blades, against the curve of his hip. He wants to disappear into Shindong, to curl into the softness at his core and breathe with him. He has never felt more at home.


End file.
